


Don't Leave Me

by PharaohZ (Lizzie1498)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Bisexual Daryl Dixon, Bisexual Michonne, Bisexual Rick Grimes, Bottom Rick Grimes, Domestic Discipline, Fear, Hurt Rick Grimes, Hurt/Comfort, Ignored Safeword, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Punishment, Showers, Spanking, Submissive Rick Grimes, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Attempt Warning, Switch Rick Grimes, Top Daryl Dixon, Top Michonne, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-11-24 01:16:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzie1498/pseuds/PharaohZ
Summary: Daryl, Michonne and Rick are in a polyamorous relationship. Rick attempts to commit suicide, drowning under the pressures of the sanctuary and his own demons. Daryl and Michonne intervene. Warnings for: Suicide attempt, violence, punishment, ignored safeword etc.Timeline is currently unclear, please be patient, lol.





	1. Chapter 1

He waited, keeping his body open towards Daryl despite wanting desperately to curl at his feet. Somewhere in the room he knew Michonne was watching quietly. She was probably more upset than he was at the moment. He hoped that Daryl would discipline him in private but he dared not ask. Not after the way Daryl looked at him when he saw Rick kneeling in the dirt, the cold barrel kissing his jaw; his own finger on the trigger. 

It was the following night and Rick swayed slightly with exhaustion. Daryl’s hands were on him then, he guided him to stand in front of him, facing the bed and the wall. Michonne was somewhere behind Daryl, shifting her feet. His shoulders were stiff, hiked tightly towards his ears, his bad leg visibly quaked. He cursed himself and willed his body to still; he hadn’t slept in days. Nightmares pumping his heart with adrenaline after a few hours of tossing in sweat-slicked sheets he’d awake with a scream that would leave him crying and petrified. Months of this now. He wanted to die. He wanted peace. Daryl’s hands were larger than his own by the fingertips, thicker. He had strong hands. Rick’s own were curling and shaking by his sides, the right was swollen still and wrapped in gauze. Fingers twitching to his buttons with anxiety. 

Daryl wordlessly reached around him and undid his pants. His cheeks flushed red as he kept his hands out of the way. The jeans slipped off his hips into a puddle, they used to fit him snug not too long ago. Daryl rarely punished him so he wasn’t quite used to the silence. He wanted to turn around, face them both and beg their forgiveness. He’d beg; he wasn’t proud in front of them. He’d drop to his knees like they had found him and beg with his entire being. Anything to allow him to breathe again. He was tempted to face them, working up the nerve and what the hell he would say. Suddenly, Daryl stripped his boxers and bent him over the edge of the bed and his resolve left him in a flood. His movements were rigid, his body already sore and tight from stress and his slow recovery. 

Daryl was stone silent and Rick was swallowing against a pit of nausea in his uncertainty. He dared a look over his shoulder to Michonne; who he knew was still upset with him, but definitely more sympathetic than Daryl. She kept her jaw strong and neutral. 

He swallowed hard, “Michonne-.” 

“Don’t.” Daryl nudged his chin back to face the wall. The hiss of the belt sliding through Daryl’s jeans cast chills up Rick’s spine and he resisted the urge to bury himself deeply into the mattress. A pitiful whine rose from his chest and he felt tears begin to spill down his cheeks. 

Rick’s body made Daryl pause. He used to be so strong. It had been rough on all of them these past months but Rick had plummeted the quickest. He hadn’t been eating his rations. Michonne had confronted him and begged and then screamed when she found out he’d been giving his rations to others, mostly the children. She loved his good heart, but hated how it loved everyone but himself. He’d fallen ill and was laid in bed for a week vomiting and shaking and sweating out the little water he could drink. Carol had nursed him while Michonne, Daryl and Aaron had gone on emergency runs for medicine before more people got sick. They’d avoided a complete outbreak but Rick hadn’t been quite right since. He was thin and pale now. More than that- he was unusually quiet. 

Until he’d broken down completely a few nights prior. His meltdowns reaped more often. Something small would happen- a mistake that would send him into a fit of rage. He’d already broken his knuckles after blowing holes in the wall. He would beat himself then, pounding his bloody fists into his thighs, his chest, his head. He grabbed his hair and tore as he sobbed. Michonne had to run for Daryl, unable to control him. They returned to him kneeling underneath the hole he just made still slamming his broken hand still into the wall. Daryl bearhugged him and dragged him away, pinning his flailing arms and locking his legs between his own. He held him down, eventually pushing him flat on his back and sitting on him until he exhausted himself. That was the worst night they’d in a while.

"Daryl, don’t do this. Please, he's hurting." Michonne held his hand which now held the folded belt loosely. They all looked miserable. 

"He tried to kill himself, Michonne.” Rick flinched hard at that and was openly sobbing into the sheets now, a sad painful cry. Michonne sat on the bed beside Rick and carded her fingers through his curls, her other hand soothing his back. 

“Easy, Honey.” then, with a slight bite, “Daryl…” She glared at him hard. They held no anger for each other. But none of them wanted this. 

Daryl turned to her with a vulnerability in his voice she’d never heard before. “I don’t care if he’s hurtin’." She still held his hand and he didn't pull away, only catching her eyes briefly before shaking his head. 

"You ain't talking me outta this. If you don't wanna be here, that's fine." His voice went hard again. He had to be resolute. Otherwise, he’d do what he really wanted and hold Rick to him, stop his tears. Michonne shook her head but stayed. She took a moment for Rick, soothing him as he shook. He was nervous, she could feel his heart kicking at his throat. His face was turned away from them both, mostly into the sheets to try and quiet himself. With regret, she stood and stepped to the side, giving Daryl her permission. 

With Rick's body stretched over it’s edge, Daryl hiked his shirt up to his chest. Daryl searched his body, feeling over the bruises he had inflicted on himself. There was pain written all over his skin. Little hurt sounds broke from Rick as Daryl inspected the marks, he gasped at a particularly sore bruise mottling his thigh.

"Easy, Rick." Despite his anger, he became soft when Rick was in pain. “M’sorry.”

Most of his bruises were already dark, painful and sore in his fair skin. They seemed mostly superficial. His fingers traced the delicate vertebrae of his spine. He shook his head and took a moment to try and soothe Rick- this was different. When they had all agreed upon this relationship there were rules established. Rick struggled with the weight of his responsibility, of his guilt, so they’d arranged themselves into each other’s orbits. 

Last night, Daryl had found him at the graves with his colt pressed underneath his jaw. He’d ripped the colt from his hand and tossed it before laying into him right there. Rick hadn’t tried to explain, only covered his face as Daryl shook him and yelled. Michonne had been distraught, pulling Rick into her arms and holding him as she sobbed into his thin chest. Daryl had been so upset he’d ripped past the guard on foot. Gone, on a run nowhere to tear into any undead in his sight. 

He had returned this morning with a few cans of food, candles, and a few pill bottles. He was filthy with walker blood and Michonne didn’t ask any questions. They hadn’t spoken much yet and now Michonne was watching them with her dark eyes and Daryl smoothed a hand across the small of Rick’s back before settling into his position.

He knew that Rick wasn't scared of him. The distress he saw in the tension of his spine was his own pain, and not the bruises. But he also knew that Rick was fearful of the belt in his hands, and the skill that he could wield it with. The first hit silenced the room, his soft crying halted by his sudden intake of breath. Michonne was struggling already. The urge to hold him was practically shaking her. She couldn't stand to watch him twitching helplessly. Daryl took a deep breath and settled into a rhythm. 

He whipped the belt again, right across the seat of his bottom. The red welt swelling and darkening by the time the sound echoed. Rick gasped again, legs flexing and fingers digging into the sheets, his right hand was limp by his head. Just as the swell of the sting was peaking, Daryl would belt him again, a solid strike that didn't fail to make him flinch. He wasn’t going fast, he didn’t want to overwhelm Rick. He’d give him a moment to settle from the previous hit. The skin reddened and warmed quickly, the thick leather heavy enough to carry a swing that knocked Rick forward into the mattress. Michonne was worrying on the other side of the bed, standing near it and watching Rick nervously; his breathing was erratic and stuttering.

Soon, Rick was crying out painfully and Daryl picked up the pace. His body tensing and coiling under the onslaught. In an attempt at relief he suddenly twisted his hips to the side overwhelmed, and threw his good arm back to protect his throbbing bottom and legs.

Daryl just sighed. The short discipline he had given had already calmed him- Rick was safe. He couldn't correct him if he became too emotional. Rick needed punishment for not coming to them- with their past, it was non-negotiable. He also needed patience. This was different than other punishments- this was a severe intervention. 

"Stay still and behave." He gently repositioned Rick, keeping his hands light and non-threatening. Rick obeyed with a pleading cry and Daryl took a moment to smooth his hair back before he pressed and laid his head back down to the mattress. He kept a hand on the back of his neck and spoke low.

"You're safe, baby." Rick was trembling and gasping, his hair slick with sweat and his skin clammy and cold. He looked deeply shaken.. Rick was having a hard time maintaining position. When Daryl stood to continue he'd shift and squirm, body turning to avoid the blows. He repositioned him again but the moment he lifted the belt Rick was turning again, belly up and scrabbling desperately. Daryl easily put him back in position, Rick wouldn’t dare actively fight him. The moment he sensed the belt he twisted in Daryl’s grasp again begging soundlessly and nearly hyperventilating in his panic. Michonne was crossing to them but Daryl wordlessly stopped her with a look. She did give him permission. They'd barely started but his stamina was low, he was becoming overwhelmed. 

Daryl sat on the bed, leading Rick gently, with his soft words and hands and settled him over his lap. He encouraged Rick to settle his meager weight, resting both hands gently on him, in his hair, on his back. It wouldn’t do anyone good to work him up so quickly. Michonne took the moment to sit beside them and gently pet at Rick’s swollen face. 

Lying over his lap, Daryl could feel Rick’s heart hammering in his chest, his core jumping as if he was being electrocuted. He steadied him against his legs and examined the welts so far- he could handle much more. 

"Keep your hands up here." He placed them above his head into the mattress. 

Daryl picked up the belt again, doubling it and preparing himself. He bracketed Rick’s hips under one arm firmly and laid out stripe after stripe of red welts across his upper thighs and lower bottom with power. His skin darkened from a flush pink to a deeper bloody red. He held him strongly as he struggled viciously against the blows, his good hand pulling and tearing at the sheets and eventually his own hair. Michonne noticed the behaviour first, correcting him quietly and putting his hands carefully back to where Daryl had placed them. 

He noticed, but continued with the punishment wanting to muscle through it without stopping. Rick was blubbering now, body squirming fiercely to escape Daryl's lap. Daryl didn’t drop his rhythm, just tipped him forward over one leg, maneuvering him to straddle his left leg and throwing his right over the back of Rick's, trapping him. His howling peaked at being restrained, unable to escape the full force of the blows. 

Eventually, He laid the belt on the bed and reached into his waistband, pulling out a leather paddle that was thick and round. He paused a moment to breathe. Allow them all a reprieve from the noise and the pain. He gave Rick’s red bottom a warning tap before popping the paddle quickly and sharply on his sore and kicking legs. 

Rick bucked hard and wailed, wrenching his hands from hers and scrambling for something to hold onto. His hand struggled but wound its way into his hair where he pulled sharply as the pain of the beating grew too much to handle. His fingers tangled into his hair, curled into a fist and he beat it down firmly on the crown of his head, the side, the temple. 

Suddenly, both his hands were pinned down and he cried as his wrist and knuckles spasmed, the blows had stopped and he gasped nauseous with the pain. He was coughing weakly in between stuttering breaths. His breath wet and trembling deep in his throat. 

"He was hitting himself -" Michonne was crying softly, sniffling under her breath as she held Rick’s hands in place.

"Keep him still." Daryl paused for a moment to give him a break but when he continued to writhe Daryl tightened his grip and laid into him a dozen hard wallops with the paddle, fast sharp loud cracks.

“Stop it, Rick. Right now.” He finished and laid down the paddle. Rick was stiff with pain, the sudden outburst shocking him still. Daryl could hit much harder than he’d been. He was dead silent for several long moments when his legs began to shake and he keened low, a horrible moan. 

“Daryl, please. Let me-” Michonne was reaching for him and swallowing between breaths. 

She’d never seen him tremble like that with them. He couldn’t stand on his own, relying on Daryl and her to pull him onto the bed and turn him on his back. His face was twisted into a miserable wail, hiccuping and drawing his legs up slightly. 

Daryl situated himself over Rick who limply allowed himself to be handled. Daryl straddled his hips backwards, and by the back of the knees bending both Rick’s legs up and over his left hip. Pinned flat on his back with his legs folded, Rick was exposed and forced to stay in position by both their body weights. He struggled briefly but was already well past exhaustion. He’d been fitful all night long while Daryl had been beating walker heads into trees. Daryl ignored the terrible sounds Rick was making underneath him, focusing on how he felt when he saw Rick in the dirt like a guilty man at the gallows- utterly hopeless. He loved Rick. He shifted his weight and pinned his legs back against his own hip and took a steadying breath. 

With the skin stretched tightly every hit stung deeply. His crying before was nothing compared to his wailing as he struck desperately at Daryl’s back. He blubbered nonsense as the paddle darkened his bottom completely. Daryl's lessons always lasted several nights but this was entering territory they hadn’t tested. It took a few long moments before the room grew hot. 

There was a shift. One that Michonne had never experienced with Rick and one Daryl was intimate with personally. The distress went from painful to intolerable. The cries grew high and thin in desperation until Rick was nearly screaming. Michonne was close, her eyes wet and pained. Weeks of sickness, hunger and depression had weakened him, it took all his energy to sob, his body taut with pain and fatigue. 

Daryl continued the beating even when Rick gasped a raspy, “Red! Micho-RED!” 

Michonne was there in a breath, reaching for Daryl, but he pulled away and continued laying into Rick severely. 

“Daryl, please! He’s done.” She was pulling at Daryl and reaching for the paddle. After a brief struggle he relented, dropping it on the bed. He eased his legs down and slipped off Rick sitting on the edge of the mattress with a sorrowful look. 

"It's over, sweetheart. Easy, baby. " Michonne immediately pulled him towards her, settling on her side so he could lie with her. 

She doubted Rick could even hear her at the moment. Gently tilting his head towards her she hummed to him softly and smoothed her hands over his slick skin, watching his eyes gloss over hers. He was sobbing bitterly, jaw open as hiccuping breaths racked him. It was that desperate cry, when you can’t catch your breath, the sob stuck in your chest like a stone. She placed a hand on his breast, his heart hammering into her palm. 

“It’s over, honey.” She whispered and kissed his brow. He had settled in her arms but tucked his head as soon as her left his cheek. Daryl was sitting nearby, his head in his hands. 

“Just breathe, Rick. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.” She hugged him to her before taking a moment to stretch and pull the sheet over his hips. He flinched hard when she jostled him and she petted his hair in sympathy. 

She lay with him until his crying eased. He shook still, the pain coming in waves and leaving him hissing into the sheets. Daryl had left quickly without another word. Michonne held Rick close until he calmed. When he seemed stable, sniffling softly and biting at his thumbnail she kissed his temple, there was a bruise forming already, and made to find Daryl. 

As she moved, Rick made a soft questioning sound and she smiled, taking his outstretched hand and kissing his knuckles. His blue eyes were clouded and red from his punishment, heavy and slow. 

“I’ll be right back, baby. Gonna get you something to drink, okay?” He only looked at her with a terrible sadness, his eyes were empty. She didn’t know when exactly it went wrong. Rick was a strong man. She never imagined…

She stood, trying not to show her broken heart. She left him curled on his side, too small in the bed. 

  
  
  



	2. 2.

She’d closed the door quietly behind her before releasing a painful sigh. Stray tears ran hot down her cheeks and she wiped them mercilessly. She didn’t deserve to cry. There was movement downstairs. She descended swiftly, keeping her steps light. Daryl was in the kitchen. His back was to her but she knew he heard her. He was making oatmeal, stirring a small pot on the stove. 

She approached cautiously, attempting to seem normal despite her severe uneasiness about what just happened. 

Before she could even begin to think of ways to start Daryl rumbled, “I was in control.” He didn’t look at her. His eyes were trained on the fork moving the oats. “You didn’t need to-” He stopped himself and sighed, still stirring. 

She honestly wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Her doubt was nudging her strongly, if she wasn’t there, what would have happened? 

“He safe-worded, Daryl.” She watched his face carefully. He was marble. “I’m surprised he didn’t sooner.” 

He just shook his head minutely. “Knew when I had to stop.” Daryl would often shock her with his near clairvoyance, “I woulda stopped.”

“I believe you, Daryl.” She paused and breathed deeply. “I know how much you love him.”

He stiffened noticeably, he began stirring again. She knew Daryl and Rick suppress their emotions, to the point of maximum pressure. She’d hoped to break both of them out of their habits and to just be transparent. 

“He needs you though. Really needs you to be gentle with him.” Michonne handed Daryl a bowl. 

There was silence as Daryl served the oatmeal. She crossed to his side now leaning on the counter too drained to stand on her own.

“Why didn’t we see it?” Her voice was raw still, singing a painful nerve. He looked at her then for the first time since Rick’s punishment began. 

“We didn’t wanna.” He mumbled and accepted the spoon from her hand, holding her eyes with an illegible look. He turned and made up the stairs without another word. Michonne allowed herself to cry as she poured Rick’s juice and water. She was so tired of hurting, of seeing the hopeless looks on Rick’s face, of him waking up screaming for Carl nearly a whole year later. She’d hold him for hours, shaking helplessly as she did her best to soothe his pain. She knew it would be many more months of this, maybe for the rest of their lives. She missed him terribly too. Her throat would close when she lingered in his room too long, everything still in its place, frozen from the day he-. Losing Carl was only the beginning of a descent to rock bottom. She began to doubt if this was it. 

She pulled herself together and washed her face before collecting the drinks and a rag and turning up the stairs. Rick was still on his side curled around Daryl, sitting on the edge of the bed running a loose hand in circles across Rick’s back. His face was still red and puffy from the ordeal but his breathing was slow and rhythmic. His eyes even fluttered briefly and Michonne was momentarily satisfied that he’d be easy to put to sleep tonight. 

“C’mere, Rick.” Daryl shifted and slipped his arms underneath Rick’s before gently pulling him up to sit. He gasped and flinched nearly violently before he settled with careful breaths. He swayed slightly and steadied himself using Daryl’s shoulder to push against.

She handed Daryl the water first, he cupped Rick’s cheek and guided the glass to his lips. He swallowed desperately, and sputtered hard choking on a wet cough that wracked him for several moments. If Daryl had been annoyed he didn’t show it. He carefully wiped Rick’s mouth with the rag before drying the spots on his own chest. Rick’s fair skin flared red at the abrasive rag and he licked his trembling lips. Michonne sat behind Rick when she noticed his instability.

“Relax, Darlin’ please?” He stroked back Rick’s hair, nails scratching gently at his scalp. 

He offered the glass again and this time Rick was careful, sipping slowly, brows cinched as he focused. His insides fluttered and groaned. He was exhausted and wired at the same time. 

He had tried to take the bowl from Daryl, who simply didn’t allow him to pull it from his hands. He only offered a small spoonful and held it to Rick’s lips. He didn’t have the will left to be prideful or try and argue. He opened his mouth and swallowed obediently feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself. Rick ate as much as he could but eventually couldn’t force himself past the nausea- he turned his head away and whined, throat too raw to protest.

“You barely ate half, Rick. A lil’ more.” Rick shook his head as Daryl spoke and this whine was desperate. Daryl sighed but relented, trading the bowl for the juice and coaxing Rick into a few sips. 

He drank most of the juice and Michonne rewarded him with another kiss, to his cheek. He only blinked at his hands curled in his lap. 

They all sat on the bed. No one looked at each other. The chasms of sheets seemed eons apart. This used to be home. They belonged to each other for so long and finally it seemed like surviving was becoming too much to bear. It had escalated so quietly. When Rick was hit by the force of his loss he was brought to his knees. Months of repressing his grief, his anger and his own guilt had weakened his bones. He felt heavy in his body- his skin was weighing him down. He was going to do it. The fear that had been keeping him from that graveyard all these months suddenly left. It all seemed so clear. He was elated even. He could end it all. He nearly did. Daryl and Michonne had saved his life. At one point he might have been grateful. Now, he can only swallow around the feeling that this was not a one time occurence. His own body seems to be foreign, it belongs to someone else.   
He’s slumped in his flesh, emptiness clouding him, filling the hollows of his bones, his mouth. Daryl’s hand is on his knee, he realizes he was being asked a question. 

“What?” His voice is wrecked, gravelled and thin. 

Daryl is blessedly patient, “How’re ya feelin’?” He seemed genuinely concerned, his eyes looked at him with a tenderness now. The initial anger had dissipated. 

Rick nervously looked him in the eyes, managing a panicked moment before he broke and looked back at his hands. 

“Fine.” He wanted to cry again. His fingers twitched noticeably, rubbing together repetitively. They both noticed the tic. 

“Rick. Don’t lie to us.” Daryl’s voice was serious but warm. Despite it’s kindness Rick flinched and swiped angrily at the tears now running down his cheeks. 

“Hey-” Michonne chided his display. 

Daryl’s eyes darkened and he grasped his thin wrist firmly, pulling it down and away from his face, “Enough.” Rick’s eyes grew wide momentarily petrified that he may be disciplined again. Daryl eased immediately, kissing his knuckles before releasing his grip, “Easy. Just take it easy, okay?”

He bit his trembling lips and swallowed heavily, his breath jumped in his throat and he managed a broken, “M’sorry,” before his eyes swelled with tears. “....Sorry.”

Daryl held the stone in his throat silently. He took Rick by the back of the neck and curled him into his own chest, reclining back. He resisted at first, body shaking with the effort it took. Michonne followed, tucking herself behind Rick and soothing his shoulders and back. 

He curled dwarfed in between their bodies. They had allowed him to waste away. They should have paid attention. She should have talked to him from the beginning, not let him slip into silence. He could have spent more time with Rick. They could have taken on more responsibility. Maybe then they would have seen the stress. They both berated themselves silently, focused on bringing Rick back down. Long minutes had passed and he quieted. Mercifully, his exhaustion overpowered his anxiety. Their self-deprecation momentarily subsided now that Rick was snuffling softly and yawning. It was late, they could spend an hour or so dozing. 

Rick was the only one who had actually settled into a nap, the others lay there, facing him as he lay in between them, breathing silently. Michonne had zoned out at some point, nearly dissociating for a moment before she prickled back into her own skin. Daryl was watching her. 

She blinked at him in response. 

“He needs a shower.” Daryl mumbled. She sighed and nodded. He nudged Rick softly, a knuckle brushing his cheek. It took him several moments to come to, he awoke with a start. His eyes searching the room before he remembered where he was and settled. 

“Gonna get you cleaned up. C’mon.” Daryl sat them both up, decidedly ignoring Rick’s groans and guiding him to the edge of the bed. 

Michonne went straight to the bathroom, preparing the shower. Daryl coaxed Rick to his feet, the sheet slipping away onto the mattress as he stood awkward and stiff, leaning heavily on Daryl. 

He limped badly, his lips twisted into a deep scowl at the pain lancing his legs. He could take it, part of him felt relieved that he could still feel pain. The rest of him throbbed numb. The skin on his ears and neck grew hot- shame. He still wore shame. The glances he noticed between Michonne and Daryl were digs under the nail. He felt an invalid. 

The hush of the shower echoed loudly against the tile and he suppressed the instinct to pull away from them both. Smoke fogged his head, exhaustion and the punishment had drained him dry. His body shook with chronic weakness and fatigue. 

“Daryl, I don’t think he can stand…” Michonne took Rick’s other side, his bad leg was settling awkwardly, it seemed to be dragging. Daryl noticed and had Rick propped against the sink for support.

“I’ve got him.” Daryl wasn’t one to do this- to insist they remain exclusive. It was always the three of them, but Daryl was still Dom tonight. This punishment was between the two men. Michonne found herself a touch hurt though she understood. 

“I’ll be in the room.” She kept her tone neutral. Rick was watching her intently, he seemed nervous at the arrangement. She’d stay close. She left with a small smile at Rick that dropped from her face the moment she turned through the door and shut it behind her. 

Rick wouldn’t face him, keeping his head low. Daryl undressed, keeping a hand ready to steady Rick if need be. He sensed fear on Rick and this was all wrong. Rick’s hip and good leg were leaning on the sink, his left hand supporting his weight on the edge of the counter. He was stiff, and twisted away from Daryl. His ribs undulated with effort. Daryl took his right hand hanging limply by his side and carefully unwrapped the gauze. It was swollen with blood and stiff. 

When Daryl reached for him he flinched but didn’t pull away. The twitch struck Daryl hard- he had never wanted to cause this. 

“Get’n Darlin’...” He encouraged and guided Rick’s stiff legs over the tall edge of the tub with a hand underneath the knee. The water was warm but before Daryl could step in behind, Rick was hissing and kicking back against the stream. Daryl steadied him against the wall and got in quickly behind him before lowering the temperature- it hadn’t been hot. 

“I’ve gotcha, it’s okay now.” Daryl pulled gently at Rick who was plastering himself against the far wall. Rick hesitated before following and this time he seemed to be able to stand the water on his welts.

He was facing Daryl now but maintaining distance, his eyes were focused somewhere through Daryl’s chest. He stunk of anxiety. They were roughly the same height but Rick was wilting, shrinking inward. He obediently stood under the stream, eyes closing as the water traced his face. Daryl watched him sway slightly backwards and steadied him at the shoulder. Rick opened his eyes for a moment at the touch. Daryl caressed his cheek softly and was grateful that he didn’t flinch this time. 

Suddenly, Daryl closed the space between them in a deep embrace, pulling Rick to him under the stream. Rick gasped at the sudden movement, stiffening for a moment. Daryl’s hot skin against his seemed to penetrate the cold shell he’d been wearing for most of the year. He felt himself thaw a little.

Rick eased against him, weakley wrapping his arms across Daryl’s shoulders and burying into him. Daryl held him for a long time, stroking his hair and back. Rick settled his weight against his chest and hoped he could somehow let Daryl  _ feel _ how sorry he was through their skins. 

When Daryl pulled away he cupped Rick’s jaw in his hand and leaned in gently to kiss, letting Rick close the distance in a brief, chaste caress. Rick swallowed as a flutter of hope bloomed in his chest. 

“I’m sorry, Rick. I’m so damn sorry for-” Daryl had Rick’s good hand curled between his and he kissed his knuckles when he couldn’t speak anymore.

Rick leaned his forehead against Daryl’s, offering what little he had left. 

“You’re goin’ to be alright.” He ducked his head to catch Rick’s downward gaze, “You hear me? And you promise me- you will never do this again. Ever.” Rick had never heard that raw tremble in Daryl’s voice, and his heart jumped at the sincerity. 

“Promise.” He rasped and held Daryl’s sharp eyes. 

“You come to me and Michonne. We get through it together.” Daryl held him softly by the jaw and looked at him lovingly. 

“Promise.” He nodded and curled into his arms, closing his eyes under the warm water feeling relieved and light. 

Daryl nodded once satisfied and pulled him close to press a kiss to his forehead, then his cheeks, wrapping his arms around him and settling into the warm stream. Daryl washed Rick, splaying a hand across his chest to steady him as he washed his neck and shoulders, working his way down his body. He stopped at his hips, taking a breath. 

“Turn around for me, Darlin’.” Rick looked at him briefly and blushed brightly before shuffling carefully using the far wall to lean against. Daryl winced at the bruises. His bottom was dark red, bloody welts cut straight across down to his mid thigh. The marks of the paddle were visible all over, the harder hits had left dark circular marks low on his bottom. His thighs were bright red and splotched with some darker bruises near the curve of his upper thighs. He was holding himself stiffly.

“How’s your leg?” Daryl held his right hip gently, sliding a hand soothingly down the front of his thigh, hoping to ease it’s perpetual tremors. 

Rick was silent for a moment and Daryl could nearly hear him thinking how he should answer. His voice was nearly lost in the stream, “Hurts bad today.” 

“Alright. Almost done.” Daryl washed him quickly, avoiding his open cuts and bruises. He’d clean him properly on the bed. He guided Rick out, and dried him, pressing kisses to his warm skin gently as he patted away the water. He caught a ghost of a smile in the mirror when he nibbled at the junction of his neck and shoulder and hummed as he pressed a kiss just behind his ear. There was a pile of loose clothes on the sink for each of them. 

“Y’know I love you, Rick.” Daryl was behind him, holding him, both men facing the mirror and Rick looked momentarily surprised, just watching Daryl’s reflection. 

Daryl felt a twinge in his chest, “You do know that, right?” Rick looked down but nodded. He didn’t push. Daryl dried his hair, running a brush gently through it. He needed a haircut. 

“I love you” Rick whispered quietly. Daryl looked up suddenly, catching Rick watching him in the mirror. Daryl smiled, running a hand down his back and pressing a kiss to the delicate vertebrae of Rick’s neck. 

**Author's Note:**

> I will most likely flesh out this work in the near future. I'm considering a possible prequel, establishing the relationship etc. and of course, to continue from where I leave off below. Please fell free to offer constructive criticisms and suggestions. Enjoy. :)


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